


Heart's Ease

by Golbez



Series: Floweytale [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Crack Treated Seriously, Doggo only appears for a short while but let's put stuff in his tag, Doomed Timelines, Flowey Being Cute, Flowey Lies, Flowey Tries To Feel Things, Friendship, Gen, POV Sans, POV Third Person Limited, Plant puns, Pretentious Title, Spaghetti, Spoilers, The Author Regrets Nothing, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golbez/pseuds/Golbez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sans comes home to Papyrus making spaghetti and Flowey panicking.</p><p>Or, a timeline where Sans and Flowey are friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart's Ease

**Author's Note:**

> What the heck this took longer to write than it should have how did I even get this many words out of this. This was supposed to be crack but. Well. Here we are?

Whatever Sans had been expecting upon reaching his and Papyrus's house, it hadn't been the gold petaled flower suddenly bursting out of their porch to greet him with frantic yelling. So much for the the last unbroken floor of their house.

"Sans! Help me, he's _doing it again_." The flower's face is impossibly reminiscent of a small child, eyes wide and apparent lips quivering.

Sans closes the gap between him and the porch, reaching up to brush off the snow that had collected on his hood before pushing it back. "Who's doing what now?" he asks, crouching to the flower's eye level. He isn't that much taller, but it's easier to talk like this. "What's got your petals in a bunch, Flow?"

"It's Papyrus!" shrieks the flower, "He's - He's making spaghetti! _Again!_ "

Sans can't help but laugh aloud, earning him a pout. He's grinning - well, of course he's grinning - as he takes a moment to reach out and gently stroke one of the flower's petals. Flowey's face changes, becoming softer, less irritated, but there's still an edge to his expression that Sans can't quite name. He pulls his hand back, then offers it again, this time with his palm up.

Flowey takes the invitation without a word, performing a small hopping motion, his stalk nestling between Sans' fingers as his head rests on Sans' palm. As usual, Sans doesn't get to see it, but he feels soft vines or roots of some kind touch the back of his hand before slithering up his sleeve, twining themselves with the bones of his arm. He straightens himself, then, with Flowey making a game out of twining himself around his hand, makes for the front door.

"You really don't lilac his cooking, do you?" he asks.

Flowey pauses in his little game to look up with a scrunched up face.

Sans laughs again, then quickly calms himself down as he turns the doorknob with his free hand and opens the door. The smell of burnt sauce hits him immediately. Sans somehow manages not to cringe or walk backwards, shut the door, and just head on back to Grillby's out of pity for the flower squirming in his hand, snowfall be damned.

"Oh, Sans, you're home!" comes Papyrus's voice from the kitchen once Sans shuts the door behind him.

"Yeah bro," Sans calls back, striding towards the kitchen. He takes a moment to step around the broken tiles on the floor, where Flowey had previously made an appearance, ignoring the way said flower was trying to disappear into the sleeve of his jacket at this point. He hears a soft squeak when he shoves his hand into his pocket, but ignores it. "Hey, something smells good here. Too bad I just had a burger at Grillby's."

"What? You should have just come straight home," says Papyrus, turning to face them, waving a wooden fork in their direction. Sans felt Flowey go still, but Papyrus was too focused on Sans anyway to notice him. "The great Papyrus would have made even more spaghetti than usual just for you."

"Sorry bro," says Sans, before asking for the sake of it, "Why'd you make more spaghetti than usual?" The vine around his upper arm suddenly constricted, the slight pressure just enough to make him jolt in surprise. Papyrus, thankfully, turns back to the pot of pasta at this moment, missing the discomfort slowly creeping onto Sans features as he feels something creep across his upper back.

"It's for Flowey," says Papyrus, "He was making sad noises earlier, not to mention he already looks so thin - nothing some spaghetti for dinner can't fix."

"Tell him flowers can't eat spaghetti!" hisses Flowey suddenly from right behind Sans' skull, making him jump in surprise this time.

"What was that, Sans?" asks Papyrus, glancing back at him.

Sans raises a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of his skull, lightly flicking the flower with a finger while he's at it.

"Oh, nothing, I was just saying, I'm sure Flowey'd love having spaghetti _fir_ dinner." This time he's ready for the sudden constriction of vines around the bones of his forearm, bracing himself for the light pain that comes with it.

"Oh my god, Sans, that was terrible." 

Sans manages to laugh without wincing. "I'll go get Flow ready for the awesomeness about to happen to him."

"What, no! It's going to be a surprise. You can't tell him!"

"Okay, okay! I'll just go check up on him. Just in case he wilted while you weren't looking or something."

"That's not funny!"

He manages to get one more laugh out, before the squeezing on his forearm starts getting just a little unbearable. Sans scurries out of the kitchen at a pace a little faster than his usual, though he still manages to keep his steps light enough that Papyrus wouldn't notice the small change. It's only once he's across the living room, near their stairs that he reaches behind his own skull and tries to grab at Flowey.

His fingers tighten around empty air, fingertips only scratching the fabric of his jacket instead of anything remotely like plant matter, and at that exact moment something soft tickles the insides of his ribcage. Sans can't help but laugh aloud as it moves around for a moment more, before suddenly just stopping. When he catches his breath and looks down, Flowey is peering up at him, having apparently found his way out from under Sans' shirt. A quick glance even lower tells Sans that most of Flowey's body or whatever he's made of is still resting in his ribcage.

"I'm a ticklish skeleton," says Sans, and to his surprise Flowey doesn't smile or anything like that. Instead, a thoughtful look creeps across his features, as if he were filing this information away in his mind. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth a thin line. Flowey suddenly looks much, much older than before, like maybe he isn't just a child monster who'd gotten lost like he'd claimed. Like maybe he was someone more than that. Like maybe he knew something that Sans' didn't.

At the sight of a Flowey so different from the one he knew, a feeling that he shouldn't have revealed his ticklishness suddenly overtakes Sans, but it's too late, the most he can do to quickly change the situation is to reach up and slowly pat Flowey before, ever so carefully, slipping his hand under his head.

"C'mon Flow," he says, lightly wiggling his fingers against a petal. "We better get you down before Papyrus realizes you know about his surprise."

There's that scrunched up expression again, and Sans is glad to see a more normal expression on his face. He barely manages not to sigh in relief when Flowey shifts and rests his head on Sans' palm again. Sans carries him to the corner of the living room, which Papyrus had turned into a makeshift room for Flowey, having hung a light yellow blanket from the window to the wall adjacent to it. It meant that the rest of the living room was constantly cast in yellow light, but it had been a fairly natural choice to make this part of the house Flowey's 'room', considering it was where he'd first appeared, destroying their floorboards in his frantic attempt to get into the house in the middle of a sudden snowfall.

Sans leans down again near the table providing a break in the blanket. It served as a door to the little room, and even here Sans could smell the disaster happening in their kitchen. Flowey must have been resting earlier when he'd smelled it and panicked.

The flower is docile now though, and like this, Sans can almost pretend he's just holding an ordinary flower. It's actually a little disturbing, to see Flowey so lifeless and unmoving...and Sans suddenly realizes that he can just barely feel the familiar pull of magic that was ever present in monster bodies. Even as Flowey springs to life and Sans feels the vines or roots or whatever they are coiled around various parts of his upper torso release his bones and all slither along until they were all gone, Sans feels only the slightest trace of magic.

He pulls his hand away, watching as the flower steadies itself underneath the table, stalk reaching into the ground now. There's a long, long, pause between them, one which Sans is content to keep up with his hands back inside his pockets. Flowey is oddly still again, staring up at him with what he could only call a pensive look. A very pensive look.

"Sans," says the flower after a moment.

"Yeah, Flow?"

Another pause. The flower grimaces, and Sans catches the look, but it's quickly replaced as he visibly forces his expression to change. The result is a pretty fake smile, but Sans decides against pressing for now.

"I like it here," says Flowey, and his voice wavers as he continues. "With the two of you."

Sans doesn't even try to hide the surprise on his face, and he can't help but crouch here and look Flowey right in the eyes. He considers responding simply, and leaving it at that, but Flowey's mood is strange and it's the perfect opportunity to try and cheer him up a little. "That's great to hear, we lilac having you here too."

"You already used that one today," says Flowey, a familiar pout on his face.

Sans laughs. "Fuschia'd have seen it coming, you know."

"I change my mind," announces the flower, disappearing into the ground. He pops back up a little further into his room, though still visible enough to Sans, with a mock scowl on his face. "I'm leaving!"

"And miss out on spaghetti?" Sans drops onto his knees and crawls closer to the table, managing to fit his head under it and not much else. From this angle he can see most of the small room, and he's not surprised to see it's really just dirt and not much else, save for the disorganized pile of trinkets sitting snug against the corner. "It can't be that bad, can it? It'll be all clover in a lily bit, you know."

"No, no, I'm packing my bags." He watches as Flowey disappears again, then reappears next to the pile of trinkets. The flower shoves his head into the pile, and Sans watches with amazement as he withdraws with a pair of sunglasses over his eyes, never mind how he was keeping them on. Sans had a feeling that everything in that pile had come from Papyrus.

"Why the rush? You should take it easy, re-flax a little - "

"When's the next ferry to Hotland?" says Flowey, before sinking back into the ground again. Then he's popping back out inside the pile, though all Sans could see of him was a bit of yellow and the slight shifting of the pile.

"Lotus take care of you, let Papyrus's spaghetti make you feel olive - "

"I'm moving back to New Home, bye!"

Here the pile just suddenly implodes, all sorts of things hitting the dirt with soft thuds. Sans is about to respond, when what Flowey just said hits him. _Back_ to New Home? Sans notes this down in his head, but doesn't comment on it in favor of quipping, "Just think about how radish the spaghetti's gonna be."

When Flowey next reappears it's under the window, and Sans can just barely see that he's still wearing the shades and now has a number of brightly colored, beaded...things, whatever they are, looped around his stalk and hanging off his petals. Definitely gifts from Papyrus.

"I'm really going to leave now! Look, I'm all packed and ready for my vacation," he shouts, and Sans knows he's joking because Flowey's the type to never put on anything that silly for no reason. He's trying to be funny in his own way, and Sans appreciates that.

"Aw, now you're _really_ going to mistletoe the spaghetti." Sans doesn't bother to hide his wider than normal grin. "You orange gonna find anything like it in Hotland, y'know, all they've got are nasty burgers and -"

"I'm not listening to any more of this," says Flowey, suddenly turning his back to Sans.

"Too much?" asks Sans, a little surprised by the change in mood. The flower doesn't respond or move, and Sans might have shown some mercy right now but his arm is still a little sore from the squeezing and he's simply in too light a mood to bother. "Hey, hey, c'mere Flow! I'll make it up to you."

Again, the flower doesn't respond or move, and Sans wonders if maybe he really _did_ push too far. Flowey's fond of joking around with him, but he's long discovered that the flower has a limit that was too easily reached when it came to puns, at which point the flower would become upset and get quiet and need to be alone for some reason. Sans didn't like speculating about him, but he'd wondered before if it had something to do with his missing flower parents. Maybe one of them had liked flower puns or something.

Then Flowey suddenly sinks into the ground, pulling him from his thoughts, and pops back up right in front of his face, shades and beads and all. It's truly a ridiculous look on him, and Sans doesn't pass up the chance to summon his phone to his hand and snap a photo.

"Sans, what - hey, did you just take a picture of me?"

"It's all gonna be bouquet, buddy!" says Sans triumphantly, scooting back on his elbows and knees before the flower can get close enough to bash his head into the phone. He catches sight of the flower disappearing into the ground, the shades and beads dropping to the ground without him to support it, before reappearing at the border of the dirt and the floorboards, an epic scowl plastered across his face.

Sans is back up on his feet quickly enough, using the nearby couch for support as he saves the photo and backs it up a few times - embarrassing material like this is going to come in handy someday, no matter what timeline. A glance down at Flowey tells him that the flower is still upset, or at least, very, very unamused with the situation. Sans considers apologizing, but a better way to make it up to him pops into his head.

Papyrus naturally chooses this moment to arrive with a plate of spaghetti. It's convenient timing considering what Sans has in mind, but judging by Flowey's expression, it's as if Papyrus is waving a weeding tool in front of him and threatening to dig him out of the ground. Sans barely manages to hold back a laugh when his brother leans down and sets the plate in front of Flowey, and Flowey's face just _scrunches up_ automatically. As expected, Papyrus takes note of this and exclaims, "Oh, you look so excited!"

Sans has to try _really_ hard to hold back his laughter at the sheer look of terror Flowey is giving the plate before him.

His efforts are promptly ruined when Papyrus drops to his knees, pulls out a fork, and tells Flowey, "That's right! You can't eat it yourself, can you? Worry not, I, the great Papyrus, will feed you this spaghetti myself!"

Sans only laughs harder when Flowey's reaction is to turn to gaze at Sans with the most pained look he's ever seen on a flower. 

"Sans, what are you laughing at?" demands Papyrus, glancing over at him. Sans shakes his head, making his way to the couch.

"S'nothing bro, just real excited for Flowey here," he answers, flopping down onto the couch.

"Oh good, I'm excited too!" says Papyrus, satisfied with that answer. He turns back to Flowey, whose expression is one of resignation, and promptly stabs at the plate of spaghetti, spinning it in place and picking up a considerable amount of noodle and barely any of the dried up sauce.

Sans takes a moment to search the immediate area for the TV remote, ignoring the muffled noises Flowey is making as he dodges the forkful of spaghetti. He spots the remote quickly enough, lodged between cushions, then reaches over to pull it out. Papyrus shouts "It's not that hot anymore!" and Flowey makes more muffled sounds, apparently holding himself back from shouting in return. Sans leans back and flips the remote the right way around before tapping the power button, making the TV come to life with loud music. It's one of Papyrus's favorite channels, but the taller skeleton is too busy dealing with Flowey to notice.

Channels flicker by on the TV screen as Sans attempts to find something to watch. Out of the corner of his left eye socket he can just see Papyrus reaching out to tickle Flowey's petals. The TV's flickering pauses on a cooking show, then picks up again. Flowey's laughter fills the room. The TV settles on a show from some up and coming entertainer. Sans sets aside the remote to let it play out in the background. Papyrus takes this opportunity to shove the forkful of spaghetti into Flowey's mouth.

Sans flicks his left hand as discreetly as he can. Flowey turns away from Papyrus, clearly ready to gag, then pauses. Sans lets his grin grow wider when the flower seems to realize that there's nothing in his mouth.

The flower's face turns to Sans, mouth open in surprise, but Sans doesn't bother returning the look, keeping his gaze on the silliness happening on TV. He knows the flower is fascinated by his 'shortcuts' and constantly trying to get into his room, the one place in the house that he had yet to see (and Sans' workshop, but like hell if he's letting the flower in there), but he probably has never expected Sans to be able to do this.

Papyrus presses another round of spaghetti to Flowey's mouth. This time, the flower tentatively opens its mouth and takes the bite himself.

Sans shoves his hand back into his pocket, gets comfortable, and flicks. Flowey's eyes widen again, and Sans can just glimpse him blatantly looking over to him, as if expecting Sans to answer or show a sign of his involvement in the disappearing pasta. Sans doesn't feel like giving him the satisfaction of knowing for sure just yet, so he just yawns and stares at the TV.

Papyrus doesn't notice Flowey's distraction, readying another bite of spaghetti, and it's right then that Flowey makes the mistake of attempting to talk. Papyrus looks up, sees his mouth open, and places the forkful in his mouth before he can even make a sound.

Sans barely manages to hold back a laugh when the flower chokes, then he's teleporting the pasta away and Flowey's features relax with relief.

It turns into a game. Flowey has no way of knowing how quickly the spaghetti will disappear, and Sans is in no hurry to use his powers right away with each passing bit of spaghetti. The TV drones on and on in the background, white noise twined with Papyrus's excited chatter, further dotted by words of encouragement and surprise at how much Flowey likes the pasta. His cheerfulness washes over Sans, refreshing as ever when contrasted with Flowey's constant dourness, and it isn't much longer until the plate is near finished. A good thing, thinks Sans, considering how _tired_ he's getting.

He waits until the last bit is Flowey's mouth. Then waits, and waits. Flowey doesn't move, waiting for the pasta to disappear.

Sans yawns and sinks into the couch.

He shifts just a little to avoid some lumps, and feels himself start to doze off...

...

"Oh no! Flowey! Are you all right!" Papyrus's shout breaks through the haze, startling Sans awake. When he sits up and looks down, he finds Papyrus shaking the flower.

"Sans, help!" Papyrus turns to him now. Gone is the confidence that normally laces his motions, replaced by a panic and fear that Sans can pick up on even at this distance. His frenzied shaking of the flower might have been comical though, if Flowey's face weren't gone.

This also has to be the first time that Sans has ever been deeply disturbed by the sight of a flower being as ordinary as possible.

"Guess your cooking was so good it brought him way pasta his limit," says Sans as he slides off the couch and onto the floor. He scoots closer to the two, pushing the plate between them aside. Papyrus doesn't even react to the terrible joke, just staring at him.

He sighs and reaches over to Flowey, his fingertips lightly brushing against a soft petal. Flowey can't be dead, right? The flower hasn't turned to dust, but when he considers the small things he's learned about him, Sans isn't entirely sure if the flower is bound to such a universal rule like that.

"Is - Is he - " Papyrus barely holds back the beginning of what can only be tears.

Sans concentrates on where his fingers meet the petal, and feels just the barest hint of a pull, of that unfamiliar magic that runs through Flowey. He moves back a little on his knees as he withdraws his hand, then sits on his ankles. "Yeah, he's fine. Looks like your spaghetti just _gnocchi_ 'd him out."

" _Sans_!" Despite the aggravation in his tone, Papyrus visibly sags with relief.

"Why don'tcha go get some rest, bro?" asks Sans, watching as his brother slowly picks himself up. Sans stands as well, much more quickly. "I'll keep an eye socket on him for now, how about it?"

"That...that would be swell..." says Papyrus, head lowered and gaze firmly on Flowey.

Sans hesitates, then decides _screw it_ and pulls Papyrus into a hug.

"Sans, w-what - "

"Flow's gonna be fine." Sans tightens his hold around Papyrus's waist. Something like this isn't really that big of a deal, but he knows Papyrus would make this bigger than it is. "He's tougher than you think, and he's not going to hate you over this."

"You're...you're right."

"And he likes staying here, you know."

"...I know."

"Really, Papyrus..."

"Sans, _no_ \- "

"...it's gonna be bouquet."

Papyrus throws his hands up at that, exasperation plain on his face. "I'm going to recalibrate some puzzles!"

Sans releases him with a laugh. "You liked that one."

"I did and I hate it!"

He can't help but laugh some more, as Papyrus stomps his way out of the house. When he doesn't come back for a last minute taunt, Sans finds that it's his own turn to sag in relief. He flops back down onto the couch, resting his head back and sighing.

They were few and far in between, but moments where Papyrus was faced with the sort of misery that Sans was so used to, or really, moments where he was anything less than his lively self - they were moments that made Sans feel like someone had taken it upon themselves to break every one of his ribs as slowly as possible. Papyrus staying happy is probably the one thing he'd work hard for.

But for now, Papyrus _is_ content and off doing his thing, and Flowey is (probably) safe. Sans shifts on the couch and waves a hand to magically flick the switch by the door, turning off all the lights and leaving only the TV to illuminate the room. It casts everything in constantly varying hues, and a moment's fiddling with the remote to turn down the volume turns the machine into just the right thing to fall asleep to. He glances at Flowey just to be sure again. Yep, the flower's face is still gone, which means Sans can just casually swing his legs up onto the rest of the couch and relax until Papyrus comes home...

...

The TV is spitting static when Sans wakes and nearly falls off the couch. He takes a moment to orient himself, looking around at everything in the living room, from his pet rock on the table by the door to the darkness of the kitchen to what little he could see of the doors to their bedrooms from this vantage point to the blanket hanging over one corner of the room.

It's still there. Whatever anomaly that's been messing with timelines lately hasn't reset.

Not that Sans would know normally, of course. He lowers his legs to the floor and slowly stands, stretching and, just as he always does when he wakes from sleep, pushing away for now his fear of the world resetting with his memories still intact.

He takes another moment to look around the room, only for uncertainty to suddenly creep over him. There's something just a little _off_ , like something's missing -

Sans freezes as realization hits him. His gaze travels down to the table providing a break in the blanket.

Flowey isn't there anymore.

A quick peek into the little room tells him Flowey isn't just sulking inside. A mad dash through the rest of the house tells him Flowey isn't anywhere in the house, and neither is Papyrus. Sans isn't even sure why he's worried. After all, the flower has a tendency to disappear for short periods of time, so this should be nothing at all, and Flowey would just come back eventually.

He knows exactly why he's worried. Papyrus would be heartbroken to come home to a missing Flowey, especially with the disastrous results of his spaghetti earlier hanging over him.

He surveys the house again as quickly as he can, confirming a second time that Flowey is nowhere to be found. Sans grits his teeth together, puts his hands in his pockets, then steps forward into a crack between time and space.

Snow crunches under his slippers, the smell of dog treat scented smoke hitting him. Sans almost wishes he has the facial muscles to scrunch his face up as he closes in on the dog reclining in his station.

"Hey, Doggo."

The dog immediately becomes alert, sitting up in his chair and (not at all) discreetly tossing the lit dog treat behind him. Sans hears a faint sizzle as it hits the snow. There's a long pause as Doggo squints at him, clearly trying to pick him out, Sans takes a few more steps closer, and it's only then that the dog's face lights up with recognition.

"Oh, it's just you," he says, pulling out a fresh dog treat from somewhere and sitting back. "Thought you were Undyne."

"Yeah, just me," says Sans, slightly rocking back and forth on his feet to stay visible. "Seen a flower with a face around?"

"Nope." Doggo takes a moment to light the dog treat. "Can't say I have. It's almost as if flowers don't have faces, can't move, and don't grow around Snowdin at all."

"Real funny." Sans steps back as smoke starts rising from the treat. "You know I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't pawsitive there's a flower with a face around."

"That was real _pawful_ , y'know."

Sans laughs. "What can ya do about it?"

"Nothing, ugh." Doggo scowls and munches on the treat. "You should try asking the Dogi about your flower. Flowers are supposed to stink, right? So those two can probably tell you more. Well, if you can get them to stop nuzzling each other for even a sec."

"Huh, not a bad idea there." Sans scratches his chin. Doggo's logic makes sense, though he's never really thought about how Flowey smells. "Guess I'll go look for them, eh?"

Before Doggo can reply, Sans stills. There's that familiar pull of time and space shifting around him, and he hears Doggo yelping at his lack of movement just as the scenery changes and he finds himself on a cliff, his feet sinking a little into the fresh snow.

The Dogi's stations sit ahead of him, but as he approaches it becomes evident that neither are occupied at the moment. They're probably having a date at Grillby's again.

Sans casts his gaze around the area, confirming that Flowey isn't here either. He really doesn't want to comb through the entirety of Snowdin's outskirts. That's simply too much work, and Flowey is wont to move around anyway so it would be pointless in the end. He wonders briefly if the lady behind the door would know Flowey, then shakes the thought away. He has to find Flowey and bring him back first, and he'd just end up wasting time if he goes to the door. Conversations with the lady tend to take up hours of his time. Precious hours, but not what he needs right now.

Sorry lady, he thinks, as he prepares to teleport to another area. His world begins to change, and he's just considering that Flowey might have headed toward Waterfall instead when he hears Papyrus's voice in the distance exclaiming " _Wait, come back!_ "

He shudders as the magic he'd readied for the teleport comes crashing back into him. Sans reaches out and grasps at the wall Dogaressa's station, leaning on the smooth wood as he recovers from the recoil. Once he's steady, he looks up to spot Papyrus running towards the cliff parallel to the Dogi's stations, chasing a constantly disappearing and reappearing flash of gold.

Sans starts to walk toward them, when Flowey suddenly stops a small way before the cliff, and Papyrus comes to a halt a short distance away from him.

"I'm going," says Flowey, just loud enough for Sans to hear him, "I'm going to the abyss."

He can't make out Flowey's face. Papyrus's expression is much easier to see. A chill runs up Sans's spine and spreads from there, his jacket suddenly even more useless than it already is.

"Don't go!" shouts Papyrus, rushing forward. Flowey disappears and reappears even closer to the cliff, stopping Papyrus in his tracks. "Flowey, why do you want to...don't you like it here?" 

The flower is quiet for a long moment, head lowered, petals almost turned in on himself.

"I do like it here," he says, "That's why I have to go."

"That does not make any sense!" proclaims Papyrus, and Sans wants to run over and grab him and never let him go. "Why can't you just stay?"

"It's too much," says Flowey, head turned up at him now. "You're too nice to me. I don't deserve this, any of this. I lie all the time and say things I don't mean, and sometimes I do things just because I can. I'm the worst, and you...you're too good. You don't deserve having to deal with me."

The confusion on Papyrus's face is clear. He's never heard talk like this before. When he doesn't respond, Flowey simply continues. "It's better if you pretend I never existed."

Standing by the Dogi's stations and feeling every bit like an intruder, Sans finds himself suddenly unsure if anything Flowey had said to him earlier was even real.

"I cannot do that," says Papyrus, then he repeats it, louder. "I cannot do that! What kind of friend would I be? No...what kind of friend have I _been_ , to not notice you feel such terrible things? You needn't hate yourself any longer, Flowey the Flower! Not only am I, the great Papyrus, your friend, but I also completely and utterly believe that you are a better person than you believe yourself to be."

Whatever sort of face FLowey has been giving Papyrus the entire time, it's quickly replaced by an expression of surprise that even Sans can see. Eyes wide, mouth slack. It's as if Flowey's never had a friend tell him this sort of thing before.

"A-and," Papyrus adds once he realizes the flower isn't replying, "You needn't pretend you like my cooking." 

And Flowey's expression breaks into a wide grin, and he laughs and then he's popping up in front of Papyrus, who promptly drops to his knees.

"You're my best friend," says Flowey.

Sans, despite himself, turns away. There are things he isn't meant to hear, conversations he should never be a part of. The magic he'd pulled back earlier swirls around him, eager to finally be released. He takes a few steps, and in a moment his slippers are hitting the wooden floor of their home.

He takes in the sight of the living room again. His immobile pet rock, the lumpy couch, the TV still spewing static, their bedroom doors, the window and - oh look, that weird white dog is here today, hanging out under the window and basking in the light, just barely touching the blanket hanging across the window.

...Flowey's room.

Maybe some renovations are in order. Sans yawns, the very thought of the amount of work he'd have to do to add a permanent space for Flowey makes his bones ache and his mind tire. At least Papyrus would eagerly help out, and maybe he can convince Undyne or the dogs to help out too. Suddenly, the work needed isn't quite as daunting.

And of course he hears then that little voice within him: _What's the point?_

The point, he thinks back, is that it's a space for Flowey. To make him happy. And if Flowey's happy, Papyrus is happy. And that's all he can ever really ever ask for.

Sans takes a moment to scratch the dog behind its ears. Maybe he should just talk to Flowey himself, but there's no guarantee he can understand, and the less he understands someone the less he can do to help. Papyrus is so much better at making friends for the opposite reason. No matter how much he knows about someone, his brother sees only the best in them, and really, maybe that's all that someone like Flowey needs.

He steps back from the dog and lets his magic loose again. He's really overdoing it today, but in a second he's standing in his room again. It's exactly as he left it, with his various possessions scattered around. The ones that truly matter are in his workshop, of course.

Something soft bounces off the back of his head. Sans can't help but grin as he turns. The sight before him is even more glorious than he expected.

His specially crafted, self-sustaining tornado of trash is spinning on and on as usual, only most of the typical trash has been displaced, the few remaining taking their sweet time in flying out at random times. Sans barely dodges another sock as it flies by his face. It slaps against the wall by his bed with a loud squelching sound, then, surprisingly, sticks to the wall.

His bed is in disarray and certainly in no shape to even sit on, much less lie on, but Sans just tosses the greasy sheets onto the ground and stretches himself out on it, summoning one of his journals and a pen to his hands. From here he can see his tornado in full glory, a whirling mass of pasta and tomato sauce and certainly much better than any trash tornado he might have ever created.

Well, all that spaghetti had to go somewhere, he muses as he flips his journal open to the last page he knew to be blank.

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then touches pen to paper and readies himself to write _flowey is your friend_ -

The pen slips from his hand. The page isn't blank.

His grip on the notebook slackens, bones rattling as his hands start to shake. He must be pranking himself from across time and space. Some other Sans is making a joke. This isn't right. This can't be right.

flowey is the enemy 

He wouldn't write in this particular journal if it weren't important. He wouldn't write this if it were a joke. It wouldn't be red if something horrible hadn't happened. He's made a terrible mistake and let himself be drawn into the trap of caring about someone, of growing attached. He should have realized, he should have known, he should have -

 _Papyrus!_ he thinks with a jolt, then he's throwing the journal and pen aside and leaping up onto his feet. He has to get to his brother. What if whatever horrible thing had prompted the other Sans to write that is happening now? What if, what if -

_What if Flowey is the anomaly?_

Magic gathers around him. He has to capture Flowey and squeeze every bit of information out of him, shake him until answers to all his questions fall out of his mouth, answers to _who are you, why are you doing this, what do you want, WILL YOU STOP MESSING WITH THE DAMN TIMELINE_ -

As if on cue, his magic crashes back into him again, sending him reeling and toppling back onto the bed. What - Why -

Sans feels it then, the familiar hint of magic creeping across his bones, an external magic grasping at every piece of him, ready to pull and break him apart. Ready to destroy him and every bit of the world until it's nothing again before rebuilding it. He feels it touch his soul, freezing him in place.

The world is resetting.

He thinks about the little room he'd thought of building with his friends. He thinks of Papyrus making spaghetti for Flowey and shouting happy things at him. He thinks of Flowey's smile and of that sweet little voice telling him, _I like it here_.

Why did he ever think anything would be different? Why did he ever think to bother?

The last thing Sans thinks just as oblivion claims him is that he never got to take a picture of the spaghetti tornado.

***

Sans can't help but whistle a little tune as he reaches his and Papyrus's house. Looks the porch is still the last unbroken floor of their house. The last safe place from Flowey's floor-destroying method of traveling.

As he closes the gap between him and the porch, he takes a moment to reach up to brush off the snow that had collected on his hood before pushing it back. Sans travels up the porch, pausing for a moment and unsure why he would, before simply opening the door. The smell of burnt sauce hits him immediately. Sans somehow manages not to cringe as he throws the door open the rest of the way and steps inside.

"Oh, Sans, you're home!" comes Papyrus's voice from the kitchen once Sans shuts the door behind him.

"Yeah bro," Sans calls back, striding towards the kitchen. He takes a moment to step around the broken tiles on the floor, where Flowey had previously made an appearance, then shoves his hands back into his pockets, where they belonged. "Hey, something smells good here. Too bad I just had a burger at Grillby's."

"What? You should have just come straight home," says Papyrus, turning to face him, waving a wooden fork in his direction. "The great Papyrus would have made even more spaghetti than usual just for you."

"Sorry bro," says Sans, then pauses as the way Papyrus worded that strikes him as odd, "Why'd you make more spaghetti than usual?"

"It's for Flowey," says Papyrus, turning back to the pot of pasta "He was making sad noises earlier, not to mention he already looks so thin - nothing some spaghetti for dinner can't fix."

"I'm sure he'd love having spaghetti _fir_ dinner."

"Oh my god, Sans, that was terrible." 

Sans laughs and turns toward the door. "I'll go get Flow ready for the awesomeness about to happen to him."

"What, no! It's going to be a surprise. You can't tell him!"

"Okay, okay! I'll just go check up on him. Just in case he wilted while you weren't looking or something."

"That's not funny!"

He gets one more laugh out, then he's casually stepping towards the little makeshift room that Papyrus had made for Flowey. He pauses at the thought. For some reason he feels like the little room might be too small for Flowey, like maybe they should make something bigger for him.

He shakes the thought away. What's the point in doing that?

"Hey Flow," he calls out upon reaching the table providing a break in the blanket. He doesn't bother crouching or leaning down, waiting instead for the flower to pop up out of the dirt to meet him. Even here, Sans could smell the disaster happening in their kitchen. It's a wonder that Flowey isn't panicking.

"Howdy, Sans!" says Flowey, wide smile on his face.

"How're you holding up?" asks Sans, peering at the flower with concern. He isn't sure why he felt like asking that question.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Flowey, blinking at him.

"Eh, forget it."

"You're a weird skeleton."

Sans shrugs, then grins and winks at the flower. "Hey, think ya can keep a secret?"

Flowey seems to consider his question, before nodding solemnly and looking up at him with all the seriousness in his eyes.

Sans leans down. "Papyrus is making spaghetti _just for you_."

"Oh no," says Flowey, but somehow Sans feels like he isn't truly surprised. Well, considering the smell reaching here, it probably isn't really much of a secret after all. Sans is about to throw in a joke when Flowey suddenly adds, "Golly, I really _oak_ you one for telling me that, huh?"

And Sans can't help but start laughing. So the flower likes puns after all. Sans steps away and flops down onto the couch. A quick search for the remote reveals it lodged between cushions and it isn't long before he has the TV on.

"You really gonna open that can of puns with me, Flow?"

"Take it as a challenge."

"All right," says Sans, settling back onto the couch and grinning down at him. "I've got plant-y of puns just for you."

Flowey's laugh is soft and Sans suddenly feels like he's forgetting something. Something important. Something that might change everything.

He shrugs the thought away and tells some more jokes and Flowey responds accordingly. Papyrus is making spaghetti and stinking up the entire house. His trash tornado continues to spin up in his room. The old lady behind the door had some new jokes today. The fresh layer of snow wafting in from Waterfall should give Snowdin something new to play with.

It's been a pretty good day.

And all things considered, it's not that bad of a timeline so far, thinks Sans in between jokes. Flowey's smile is wide, like he knows more than Sans thinks he knows, but he's just a kid and kids liked to pretend they knew more than they did.

Sans figures he'll have to write something about today down in his journal later.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, thanks for reading this far! Admittedly, this entire thing and the series it's kicking off was really just an excuse to write a SPAGHETTI TORNADO into existence. Even if it was just for a tiny amount of time. You will be missed, Spaghetti Tornado.
> 
> Also, I would like to thank [Fuck Yeah Flower Puns](http://fuckyeahflowerpuns.tumblr.com/) for inspiring me with their epic plant puns as I otherwise would not have been able to come up with any material on my own for this fic.


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